So, I’m not unaware of how everything works. I merely lack practical experience.
Meaning, this is my first kiss.
I don’t know if I’m lucky or if all kisses are like this. Because every moment is divine.
Broderick worships my mouth with gentle yet firm pressure against my lips. He teases and coaxes. Maybe he’s awkward sometimes when speaking, but he’s saved all his suave skills for kissing, and I’m glad for it, learning from him as we go.
He deviates from my mouth, kissing over my cheek and along my jaw, dragging my internal fire with him, as if the magic in me wants to chase his mouth.
“That feels so good,” I gasp. “I didn’t know kissing would feel this good.”
Broderick pauses, and I let out an involuntary whimper of protest.
He raises his head, staring at me with wide eyes. “Is this your first kiss? You … you … you haven’t … of course you haven’t.” He closes his eyes, a pained look on his face.
And my fire rises with panic and anger and want.
“Broderick.” His name comes from my throat in a hard demand. A tone I don’t know I’ve ever used before.
His eyes snap open, and in his green gaze, I can spy a reflection of the sparks in mine.
Good. I have his attention.
“You will not coddle me,” I inform him. “You will not decide what I want. When I tell you to kiss me and touch me and fuck me”—I love the simple erotic word and plan to use it again—“you will trust me. Trust that I am being honest and know what I want. Do you understand?”
If he doesn’t, then this is over. No more time with the red-haired witch I crave so much.
Because even if I want him desperately, I refuse to have another person dictate my life.
“Gods be damned,” Broderick mutters. “Tell me to do anything in that voice, and I will crawl on my knees to you. I trust you, Ophelia. What do you want from me?”
In this moment? Everything.
But I only say, “Kiss me again.”
Broderick dives for my mouth, and this time, there’s a fevered need. I respond in kind, learning quickly how to move my mouth in concert with his. I consume the groans and grunts as I wrap not only my arms, but also my legs around him. Broderick keeps us floating with two hands on the ladder, and I feel the cold metal bite into my back.
But I’m too consumed with the pleasure in front of me to care.
A hard length wedges in the space between us.
His cock.
I gasp at the knowledge that his body wants mine the way mine wants his. When I’m alone in bed, for months now, I’ve explored my pleasure with thoughts of this witch. Fantasies of him taking me in all the ways I learned in my research.
I think it’s time to share.
Broderick frees my mouth, kissing down my neck, and I tell him my truth.
“Every Wednesday,” I gasp, “when I come to the university, to your department, I want to push you into your office and lock the door behind me.”
His body stiffens.
“Hells,” he whispers against my neck. “Then what?”
“You’d sit in your chair.” I close my eyes, playing out my favorite fantasy on the back of my eyelids. “And I’d mount your lap and rub myself against you like this.” I rock my hips, angling so his shaft presses against my clit. “I think about you when I touch myself at night.”
Broderick lets out a deep groan and nips at my neck. I jump from the sharp pinch, then hunger for more. Digging my heels into his lower back, I bring him against my pleasure center again and again.
